Jul 242014
 

Summer Fancy Food Show, New York, 2014. The Italians always come bearing cheeses and prosciutto, impeccably dressed and wearing the latest eyeglass styles. If you want to sample some truffles or condimento, they’d rather huddle together in the back corner of their little booths and sip espresso than give you any. You have to wait until they’re good and ready to sell you something, or for those without importers yet, to promote something. That’s the the idea, isn’t it?—To sell you something? Even my “Press” badge doesn’t budge them.

My first stop is always the Italian pavilion.

My first stop is always the Italian pavilion.

Still, the Italian pavilion is always my first stop. I like the comfort of knowing that no matter how often the government changes in Italy, some things stay the same. Though the Italians are always riding the wave of fashion—more often than not creating it—there are certain traditions. I know, I grew up on them. So in a way, it’s like going back home, if I can ever figure out on which side of the ocean that was, or which part of the Italian geographical boot, for that matter. Sardinia, my mother’s turf, is a long way from Puglia, my father’s. Italy has never been one nation in spirit, and it certainly didn’t unite under our roof. What anchored me was the food. There was always consensus on that. As long as my mother didn’t get any ideas about trying out the fads of the times—T.V. dinners, canned soup, instant meals, or other 1950s American food notions—my father was compliant. I remember bumping along in the backseat of my parent’s 1955 Dodge for long drives to the Italian neighborhoods of Paterson and Newark for olive oil, canned tomatoes, and spaghetti in two-foot lengths wrapped in indigo paper. My mother was always lamenting the gaminess of American lamb, claiming it was no better than mutton, or the toughness of the artichokes. Tomatoes didn’t taste like tomatoes should and where would she ever find the potent mushrooms of her girlhood? It seemed like we were always on a quest for some ingredient or other that she wanted. It’s no wonder I’m hardwired to sniff and taste for a living.

Talking coffee with Raimondo Ricci of Sant'Eustachio.

Talking coffee with Raimondo Ricci of Sant’Eustachio.

At the Fancy Food Show, I get to take a tour of every region in one afternoon. Italy’s pavilions, organized by region, exhibit the predictable sampling of their foods every year. On this day, the first of the show, Campania’s mozzarella di bufala had the proper porcelain sheen and was pleasantly sour and faintly mossy, the way it’s supposed to taste, even if it’s a few days old. (If you talk to a mozzarella maker in the “buffalo lands” of Lazio and Campania, he will tell you he wouldn’t dream of eating it if it is more than two hours old.) You can sample proper Pecorino Romano, and realize that by the time it reaches your table in America, it usually doesn’t taste anything like this—aged and seductively salty but at the same time fresh, moist, and cool on your tongue. The Pecorino Romano we get in our markets is too often dry and brittle.
Exhibitor flaking off pieces or Pecorino Romano for tasting.

Exhibitor flaking off pieces or Pecorino Romano for tasting; business as usual in the background.

Pecorino Romano, piercingly sharp, seductively salty, hard but moist, the way we rarely taste it. Classic.

Pecorino Romano, piercingly sharp, seductively salty, hard but moist, the way we rarely taste it.

Emilia-Romagna is always there with its glorious Parmigiano-Reggiano, a cheese so valued that at the dairies, uniformed guards carrying machine guns shadow its transfer from the aging rooms onto Brinks-like armored trucks that speed away with their precious cargo for the markets in a cloud of dust. Aside from the genuine classics exhibited by the regions, there are rarer cheeses to be discovered at Atalanta food importers, including Pecorino Affienato, a beguiling sheep cheese aged in hay and honey made near Florence that induces dreams of Tuscany in September.

Checking out what Atalanta has to offer. | Photo: Nathan Hoyt

Checking out what Atalanta has to offer.

As for salumi, another big food category for Italy, there were only those that are permitted export to this country. Prosciutto makers are still curing their hams by essentially the same process their ancestors figured out thousands of years ago, even if there is so much demand for it that some of the swine are bred in Germany for them—in compliance, I am told, with the prosciutto makers’ traditional sustainable practices. You could walk by an exhibitor expertly slicing prosciutto crudo with a knife, not by machine; you know as soon as it goes into your mouth what a difference a cold knife or a hot blade can make on that ethereal slice of ham as it reaches the taste buds clear at the bottom of your stomach.

Offering a taste of artisan prosciutto made in Parma, sliced by hand.

Offering a taste of artisan prosciutto made in Parma, sliced by hand.

Sliced by hand, there's an astonishing difference in taste and mouth feel.

Sliced by hand, there’s a difference in taste and mouth feel.

Slicing Parma prosciutto by hand, a necessity now that there is such a demand for it outside its homeland.

Slicing prosciutto by machine is practical and efficient, and the ham is still buttery.

Unlike many of the novelties at the show, most new products here are informed by tradition. Martina Colonna, the daughter of Prince Francesco Colonna, says she reluctantly gave up city life in Rome in 1996 to take over the family’s 200-year old estate in Molise, where she makes D.O.P. olive oils that have won multiple international awards. The delicate mandarin and bergamot extra-virgin olive oils pressed with the zests of those fruits are intriguing, if not for cooking, as finishing oils or for baking. “You can’t imagine how much work it is for all the women that work in the frantoio peeling mountains of the citrus just to take off their zest,” she said.

Talking olive oil with Marina Colonna.

Talking olive oil with Marina Colonna at last year’s show.

Journalist Fred Plotkin with Martina Colonna; Gabriele Lasagni, Pantelleria caper and zibbibo grape producer in the background.

Journalist Fred Plotkin with Martina Colonna; Gabriele Lasagni, Pantelleria caper and zibbibo grape producer in the background.

Another olive oil producer, from Puglia, Olio Merico Salento, whose estate in Miggiano I visited recently, makes a more piercing citrus-extra-virgin olive oil using a third fresh lemons in the press along with her Cellina varietal olives. Yes, the result is so citrusy that it veils the essence of the olives, but when used to enrich and flavor a ricotta spoon dessert, for example, which she made for me on site, it is a revelation (true extra-virgin olive oil is as much a fruit juice as an oil). It’s exported by her sister, Marta Lisi of Attavola.

Attavola's artisanal line of olive oils from Sicily and Puglia includes the citrus oil from Olio Americo Salento.

Attavola’s artisanal olive oils include citrus oil from Olio Americo Salento, estate-bottled under the label, Piana degli Ulivi.

Neither this nor Marina Colonna’s are infused oils, a product that was the rage for a few years. Do you remember those? Rather, here, olives and citrus peel are pressed together and the water of both fruits are spun off at the pressing stage through centrifugal force. While infused oils never had a presence in my pantry—I want to taste the unadulterated olive flavor of the oil, not some gussied up rosemary or garlic infusion, I have found a place for these citrus-olive oils. Just the other day, I dressed roasted beets with Marina Colonna’s clementine oil. They were much the better for it. Other exceptional products from Attavola included moist, wood-roasted Calabrian figs wrapped in fig leaves, hands down the best dried figs I’ve ever tasted (you’re looking at a fig aficionado here).

With Dott.ss. Marta Lisi at Attavola.

With Dott.ss. Marta Lisi at Attavola, where I discovered the wood-roasted figs.

A new discovery was Mugolio, a unique sweet pine cone syrup made by a forager in the Trentino part of the Italian Alps—think of it as the Dolomites’ answer to Vermont’s maple syrup. Redolent with the scents of rosemary and wild Alpine herbs, it’s as beguiling an aromatic as you’ll find for flavoring pork or game, or for lacing over only the very best ice cream or gelato. Having spent some years exploring the Dolomites for my book about the Veneto, I was astonished not to have ever come across it before. Good restaurant chefs are dazzling their patrons with elusive ingredients like this up their sleeves, but with such provisions in a home pantry, it becomes easy to make food taste sublime with little effort.

Mugolo, an artisan pine bud syrup from a forager in from the Italian Alps,  imported by Manicaretti.

Mugolo, an artisan pine bud syrup from a forager in from the Italian Alps, imported by Manicaretti.

Benedetto Cavalieri, from Maglie, Puglia, a third generation pasta maker whose artisan operation I saw in person only a few months ago, makes one of the best pastas in the world. I only wish we had access to the many shapes the pastificio distributes in his local area.  

Benedetto Cavalieri's pasta display. Benedetto's son, Andrea Cavalieri, and his wife, Martina.

Benedetto Cavalieri’s pasta display. Benedetto’s son, Andrea Cavalieri, and his wife, Martina (left).

Benedetto Cavalieri artisan pasta has a clear wheat flavor and firm texture that holds its shape from the pot to the plate.

Benedetto Cavalieri pastificio, founded by Andrea’s grandfather in 1918, a legend in Puglia, is made from the family’s own wheat.

I rarely miss a visit to Gustiamo, which imports high quality products from small artisan producers  around Italy, and links me to the people who make them. Those ritual stops are a way of getting my bearings before, like Dorothy, I’m whirled away from Kansas into a dazzling, if not always agreeable, journey into the world of “Fancy Food.” I’m always on the lookout for genuine products and foods made by people, not industry, things that, above all, taste good because they come from nature.

After the show, dinner with Beatrice Ughi and some of her producers.

After the show, dinner with Beatrice Ughi and some of her producers.

When I learned that Manicaretti, an importer of Italian artisan products that has something of a cult status among the country’s best chefs, was coming to the show to introduce a line of pastina, of all things—Italy’s answer to baby food—I made an appearance. If you read a recent Mother’s Day article I wrote for Zester Daily, you know that I’d love to see more Americans feeding it to their kids instead of rearing them on junk food. You’re lucky if you can find the little pasta stars in the supermarkets any more. The name of the game has more to do with how much shelf space glitzy new products can command with their big adverting budgets than about displaying products that might actually constitute food. Real food just gets overshadowed by all kinds of processed stuff marketed for kids that scream, “natural,” but they’re more often than not nothing but junk food in drag.

Importer Manicaretti's new line of organic pastina for children, ZeroTre.

Importer Manicaretti’s new line of organic pastina for children, ZeroTre.

I’ve walked nearly every show in New York  for twenty-five years, even singling out good pasta makers from time to time to suggest they come out with a children’s pastina line. Finally, along comes Manicaretti with ZeroTre, made by Rustichella d’Abruzzo, one of Italy’s leading artisan pasta makers. It was actually the brainchild of Maria Stefania Peduzzi, one of the pastificio’s owners, who happens to also be a school teacher.

With Manicaretti’s Rolando Beramendi (left), and the Rustichella d’Abruzzo pasta family, Maria Stefania Peduzzi and her brother, Gianluigi Peduzzi, and Giancarlo d’Annibale, Stefani’s husband.

There are five different pastina varieties, including “alphabets;” “little rings;” gluten-free “half moons” made of corn and rice; baby “rigatoncini” made of durum wheat, pumpkin, carrot, and tomato dough; and “little stars” made with durum wheat, spinach, and zucchini. I took a day out of my schedule to chat with everyone who stopped by Manicaretti’s booth, where two chefs from Mario Batali’s Del Posto in NYC, which stocks much of Manicaretti’s ingredients, whipped up pastina dishes so outrageous that people (grown-ups; no kids allowed in the show) lined up for the “little stars” in freshly made capon broth with Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese.

For those of you who didn’t make it, continue here for more details, links, and a roundup of products represented at the show that I found exceptional, including standing favorites, and new items.

All photos by Nathan Hoyt 

Jul 172014
 
Ingredients for Pasta alla Destefanis. | Photo: Nathan Hoyt

Ingredients for Pasta alla Destefanis. | Photo: Nathan Hoyt

Every now and then someone sends me a message that’s a real charmer. Here’s one I received at the end of last summer about a recipe that appears in my very first cookbook, Pasta Classica: The Art of Italian Pasta Cooking. The writer, Dr. John Brownlee, and so many other readers, have raved about it over three decades, so I’m sharing the message and recipe here.

 I am preparing to make lo Stracotto for the second time from your book Pasta Classica, which I purchased in 1988 in New Orleans. It taught me to make pasta, a gift which I have passed onto my children and hundreds of Montessori school 5th graders. I have made soups and sauces and return to the book more than any other cookbook. As we live in the south our favorite summer recipe is Pasta Destefanis. I have found making pasta by hand to be therapeutic. I am a pediatric cardiologist and have some knob related stresses. Kneading dough and cooking while listening to music is much more enjoyable than a therapist. Thank you for your book, culinary wisdom, and your clear and entertaining writing.  I send an attached photo of the future pasta maker, my granddaughter Marie Elizabeth.  –Dr. John Brownlee

Here’s what I wrote back:

Dear Dr. Brownlee, Several years ago, I attempted to establish a healthy school food program in an independent school that my own two daughters had attended years before. The menus I created were filled with recipes from all my books, and wholesome and delicious food of all kinds, from Pasta alla Destefanis to New Orleans jambalaya that is no doubt dear to your heart. We taught kids and their parents to cook everything from Vietnamese spring rolls to Julia Child’s boef bourguingnon–calling it “beef stew” not to scare anyone off!–and got the young ones involved in a school garden. The program won awards and many of the kids loved the food and couldn’t get enough of it. But others balked at the absence of the industrially made chicken nuggets, white-flour bagels, and junk pizza that the kids were used to eating before— and at home. Parents of the latter kids panicked and pressured the administration to bring back the junk food menu. What I learned was that kids would eat good food only if parents instilled good eating habits. Kudos to you for passing on the gift of cooking to so many children. No doubt Marie Elizabeth will carry on the family tradition. --JdC

Because Pasta alla Destefanis is best made using vine-ripened cherry tomatoes, I decided to wait to re-publish the recipe, along with Dr. Brownlee’s message. This week, I plucked my first beautiful Sun Golds (the sweetest cherry tomatoes I know) from the vine in my vegetable garden to make this sensational and utterly simple dish.

Sungold tomatoes in my garden. | Photo: Nathan Hoyt

Sun Gold tomatoes in my garden. | Photo: Nathan Hoyt

The pleasant and surprising recipe was given to me by Flavia Destefanis, my long-time friend who was born in Italy but grew up in many different countries, traveling wherever her father, a diplomat, was transferred every few years. It made her think outside the box about food as much as most things, and she is good at combining the best Italian cooking traditions with ingredients considered exotic in Italian cooking. If you think the notion of an avocado and tomato sauce for hot pasta sounds odd, I can tell you that I have served it to many hundreds of people over the years, and delighted them all, every time—including the fussy school children I told you about.

Pasta alla Destefanis (Pasta with Raw Tomatoes and Avocado)
For 3-4 normal, or 2 hearty eaters

Recommended shapes include spaghetti or linguine,  or short cut pasta such as “snails,” medium “shells,” pennette, or fusilli. If you don’t like the taste of raw garlic in your mouth, don’t use it; there will be plenty of flavor without it. When the avocado is tossed with the piping hot pasta, it clings to its porous surface and along with the olive oil, forms a creamy sauce.

1 ripe (but not spotty) Haas avocado
4 tablespoons good extra-virgin olive oil
3/4  pound fresh, sweet, vine-ripened cherry tomatoes or other fresh, vine-ripened tomatoes
1 small garlic clove, pressed or minced (optional)
2 or 3 leaves fresh basil, torn into small pieces (optional)
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt, or to taste freshly ground white or black pepper to taste
2 tablespoons kosher salt
1/2  pound spaghetti, or short-cut pasta such as penne, shells, or fusilli

1. Fill an ample pot with 5 quarts cold water and bring to a rapid boil.
2. Peel and dice the avocado and toss it immediately with the olive oil in an ample serving bowl.
3. If using cherry tomatoes, slice them in quarters, or if they are very small, into halves. If using larger tomatoes, remove cores and slice and cut them into small dice.
4. In the serving bowl, toss the tomatoes, garlic (if using), basil (if using), salt, and pepper.
5. To the pot of boiling water, add the kosher salt, followed by the pasta. Bring the water back to a rolling boil. Follow the pasta manufacturer’s cooking directions  for “al dente,” stirring occasionally. Drain, reserving about 1/2 cup of the cooking water.
6. Immediately toss the hot pasta with the tomato and avocado sauce. Add a little of the reserved pasta water if necessary to moisten. Serve immediately.

avocado

Coat the avocado dice in the olive oil first to prevent it from turning dark.

Toss the cut-up or diced tomatoes with the avocado and other ingredients.

Toss the cut-up or diced tomatoes with the avocado and other ingredients.

Add coarse salt to the boiling water without skimping—you need 2-3 tablespoons for 5 quarts of water.

Add coarse salt to the boiling water without skimping—you need 2-3 tablespoons for 5 quarts of water.

Pasta alla Destefanis (Lumachine, "Little Snails" with Uncooked Tomato and Avocado Sauce | Photo: Nathan Hoyt

Pasta alla Destefanis (Lumachine, “Little Snails” with Uncooked Tomato and Avocado Sauce) | Photo: Nathan Hoyt

 

Jul 022014
 
True American Eats for the 4th: Fiery Italian-Fried Chicken Wings

There’s thunder and lightening from where I’m sitting looking out my kitchen window, with no sign of let-up for July 4th. If that means a change of plans for you from an all-American barbecue, consider the Independence Day tradition of the American South: fried chicken. While I grew up in an Italian household, fried chicken was always a special dish and it fit in just fine with potato salad and all the other American trimmings. Whether it’s Kentucky-fried, Georgia-fried, or Italian-fried, it’s as American as grilling on the Fourth of July. Here’s my recipe, sprinkled with some fried chicken history. [...more...]

Jun 152014
 
Toritto, Puglia: An Afternoon in My Father's Land

My father left his native Toritto as an infant in his mother’s arms in 1909. With his young parents and grandmother, he sailed for Ellis Island in steerage. The family said that in those bleak times in Puglia, they had survived by eating the wild greens that grew in the fields where they had toiled. Although he returned to Italy many times as an adult, especially to the Carrara quarries to buy marble for his shop in America, my father never went back to where he was born. What kindled his memory was the food he was raised on. His [...more...]

Jun 102014
 
Love Me Tender: The Italian Way with Green Beans

Besides home-grown tomatoes, green beans from my garden are the vegetable I most look forward to in summer. Right after my beans seeds went into the ground and my thoughts turned to eating them, it occurred to me to write Love Me Tender, a story for Zester Daily, about how I like them best. You may want to know my favorite way to cook them if you love them as much as I do, and if you don’t, you might change your mind after you read  here.  

May 192014
 
A 3,000-Year Tradition Makes for Sublime Italian Prosciutto

If you’ve been following my posts this month, you know that I’ve been in Italy at the invitation of the Italian Trade Commission exploring the products of food artisans working in the country’s twenty regions. Throughout May, I’ll be publishing vignettes on some of the food producers I met, both at the 78th annual artisans expo in Florence in April, and subsequently traveling throughout the country. Italian artisans have been making air-cured hams as far back as Etruscan times some 3,000 years ago, originally from the haunches of wild boar. Eventually, pigs were bred and pampered specially for producing prosciutto crudo, [...more...]

Apr 132014
 
I Dream of Rapini Pie

With spring in the air, my thoughts turn to the Italian Easter pie, torta pasqualina, a festive puff pastry dish customarily prepared for consumption on Easter Monday for marauding guests. The tart is more often than not stuffed with ricotta and spinach or chard—the classic greens used for ravioli and such. Emilia-Romagna and Liguria take credit for having invented it (though it seems plausible that country people anywhere would think to put spring greens, foraged or cultivated, into a pastry casing). The torta has been an anticipated ritual for me every season, but this year, I’m making it with a traditional American-style [...more...]

Apr 112014
 
Ancient Roman Statue Discusses a Tender Subject

Just when I was thinking I should offer a recipe with an accompanying historical yarn about abbacchio, the suckling lamb that is Rome’s gastronomical obsession at Easter, this lively story about just that, titled “Pasquino Discusses a Tender Subject” landed in my mailbox. The author, Anthony Di Renzo, who chronicles a fading Italian world in his novels, writes a column for the California-based  L’Italo-Americano newspaper under the pen name, “Pasquino.” For those not steeped in Roman lore, “Pasquino” is the nickname of an ancient, battered statue that lost its arms during the sack of Rome and was buried in a ditch until April Fool’s [...more...]

Mar 242014
 
You asked for it—Francine Segan's Bucatini Cupola

My last post featured cupola di bucatini, bucatini dome, a recreation of a historic timballo (aka timpano). It was created by Francine Segan, a food historian and author of Pasta Modern: New & Inspired Recipes from Italy (Stewart, Tabori & Chang), to celebrate the appointment of the new Italian Trade Commissioner, Pier Paolo Celeste. ”This recipe dates to 18th century Naples, and was rediscovered and modernized by Giorgia Chiatto and Carmela Caputo, who run Naples’ first…cooking school, Cucinamica,” she says. She learned how to make it on site from Garofalo, one of the city’s oldest and most famous pastificci, headquartered in Gragnano, home of some of the best dried [...more...]